Silver Shadow
by Soulbell
Summary: Anya Braginskaya, a Russian spy, has been caught by a government operative; Alfred Jones. Recently escaped, she is on the run, trying to keep any secrets for her country hidden from anyone who isn't supposed to know. Possible future America/Fem!Russia.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

_Forgive my replacing of chapter one. A few errors needed to be fixed._

пожалуйста — pozhaluĭsta — please

Брат — brat — brother

Николай — Nikolai — Nyo!Belarus

Игорь — Igor — Nyo!Ukraine

An earsplitting scream came from the inside of the small containment chamber. The lights inside of it flickered, the current electricity usage draining the power. Once the lights were fully lit again—no flickering in the slightest—the screaming died away. Inside the room it was very bright, the floor and ceiling stainless white, the wall seemingly made of mirrors; one-way of course. The seemingly bleached-white floor had a couple blood stains toward the center, clearly fresh. A woman with long blonde hair hung from thick, bolted chains and wires that jutted out of the ceiling. Her hands were cuffed tightly, connected to the chains, sustaining her in midair. She'd been there a while, and it was getting hard for her to breath. She made no movements, aside from the slightest tremble. Her clothes were tattered, scattered all over the floor. She was in her undergarments and a simple scarf, which were all baby pink in color, but bloodstains covered most of those as well. There were cuts all over her stomach and back, as well as a few on her legs and cheeks. The area around her neck was clear of any damage, however. Her hair was messy, clinging to her sweat-clad body as she tried not to cry, continuing to quiver in the hold. A voice emanated around the room from a speaker, but she was too weak and unfocused to pinpoint it.

"Shall we try again, Braginskaya?"

The woman responded by screeching angrily in Russian. Once she'd finished, everything was eerily silent for a moment. She was panting now, the shouting having expended much of her remaining energy. The room was silent again, before the voice suddenly came onto the speaker once more.

"Again."

The lights began to flicker again, a current of electricity shooting through the wires and into the chains. The electricity ran down into the woman's body, forcing another ungodly scream to pierce the room. The lights returned to normal not too long after, a sign that the electricity had stopped flowing. The woman's breathing was shallow and shaky, her whole body numb with pain. She stifled back a sob, her vision blurring around the edges, her eyes fluttering. She cringed at the sound of the mirrored door opening, feebly lifting her head to see.

A blonde man in uniform—plus bomber jacket—stepped into the room alone. His expression was slightly bemused, and in his hand he had what looked like a remote control. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, keeping only a few feet away from her and sighing heavily. She glared at him pathetically, a small, weak smirk on her face. The man across from her rolled his eyes, smacking her.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Braginskaya. I will beat the information out of you."

He scowled at her, slipping off her scarf now and pulling a blade out of his pocket.

"Anya, I can play this game all day… There are stories that you had scars on your neck. That that was the reason you wore your precious scarf…" he murmured, watching as Anya flinched slightly, her smirk gone. "Let's put some real scars on it, shall we—"

"STOP!"

She shouted, right as the blade pressed at her neck. A few beads of sweat trickled down her face as the man looked at her, expecting the words he wished to hear.

"Alfred… пожалуйста…" Anya pleaded, trying to keep her voice steady.

"English, Ms. Braginskaya." he hissed, pressing the blade to her throat, causing her to whimper. "The plans? The base?"

She gulped, opening her mouth, but no noise coming out. Her breaths were as shallow as they could get, her eyes half closed in a near blackout. Both of them winced at a crashing noise from outside the door, however, causing Anya to jerk awake.

"Брат!" Someone spoke angrily in Russian on the other side. Another softer, more frantic voice was heard as well, also speaking Russian. Alfred's eyes narrowed as he reluctantly pulled the blade away from Anya's neck. He moved to the door, slipping the blade back into his pocket, as well as the remote, and instead pulled out his gun. It was suddenly silent on the other side of the door, not a sound to be heard. A short while after, the noise became deafening.

Two men had crashed through the one-way mirrors, the first one seemingly glowering at Alfred, the other a look of worry on his face.

"Igor! Get sister!" the angry one shouted, tackling Alfred, knocking his gun away.

Igor nodded to his brother, rushing over to Anya, who looked dazed and confused.

"Sister, we're so sorry we took so long! I almost got us lost and Nikolai scolded me and…" He rambled on as he undid Anya's chains, causing her to fall to the floor. She inhaled sharply, coughing up small traces of blood halfway through breathing. On the other side of the room, Nikolai and Alfred were in a fist fight, Alfred struggling to reach for his gun. They were rolling around on the broken glass, screeching furiously at each other indecipherably. There was a wild look in Nikolai's eyes, bloodthirsty almost.

"Николай!" Anya shouted, her voice somewhat raspy. She was on her feet, supported by Igor, her legs somewhat unstable. "Let's _go_!"

She and her brother were already hurrying out the door, Nikolai's grip slipping up on Alfred. He leaped aside, away from the American, racing after his siblings somewhat reluctantly. Anya was soon scooped up by Nikolai, making her unsure of whether to feel grateful for her brother's assistance or nervous due to his obsession with her. Alfred was quickly on his feet, gun in hand, shooting at them.

"Stop right now, Braginskaya!"

He mumbled something into a walkie-talkie, and soon enough more armed forces were surrounding the three siblings.

"Igor, come on!" Nikolai snarled, making a sharp turn, heading from around the back of the building and into the streets. They were barren and empty, being in a disclosed area of the city. A bullet grazed Nikolai's shoulder, making him hiss in frustration, dropping his sister. Anya stood up quickly, her energy slowly returning. Igor stopped to help his fallen brother.

"Go, sister! We will take care of them!" He pulled off Nikolai's coat, tossing it to her to cover herself with. She was hesitant, but gulped, nodding and sprinting towards the outer rims of the city. Not long after, the men had Nikolai and Igor constrained, but Alfred was nowhere in sight. Anya continued to run, faster and faster, not caring if Al was right behind her. So long as she got out of there, away from that hell-house, she'd be fine. She'd be alright.

The last thing she heard as she ran off into the woods was the operative calling her name.

_ "BRAGINSKAYA!"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

_Thank you, __cry-to-the-moon__, for correcting my use of Russian surnames._

Running. Running was the only thing on Anya Braginskaya's mind. She didn't pay much attention to where she was going, only knowing that she needed to get away from that torture chamber she'd been in the past couple days. She was unsure as to if Alfred Jones was still following her, but she didn't dare turn around to check; to take a look to see if she could stop her sprint. The moment she stopped running was when her legs gave out from beneath her, forcing her to collapse in the middle of the woodlands she'd stranded herself in. It was cold outside; something the blonde was used to. Anya sat on the ground among the foliage lying around, huddling in her brother's coat. How sweet of him to give it to her, even if she never seemed to pay the tiniest true lick of attention to him. It was nice and warm, with its fur trim around the collar and woolen inside layer. The Russian slowly, without much energy, dug through the pockets of the jacket. There was bound to be a phone somewhere. She knew who to call, and if they didn't help her out, they knew they were dead meat. After a few long minutes of searching, Anya pulled out Nikolai's private phone. She hit one of the numbers on speed dial, and waited patiently. The cold was making the outlines of her skin numb, but she didn't really notice.

"Nikolai? What the hell are you calling me for, man?" The obnoxiously confident voice was content, and a bit confused. It was nice to hear someone Anya knew again, and she couldn't help but smile the tiniest bit.

"Gilbert. It's Anya."

There was a silence on the opposite end of the line. Anya knew the German was not her greatest fan. He had every right to be, after everything she'd done to him. But he was with her now, and he knew his place. When he finally responded, his voice had lost the perky confidence it had had only a few minutes before.

"B-boss! So good to hear from you! You haven't c-called in a few days… Why're you using Niko's phone anyway?"

"I ran into a little trouble with the Americans. I need you to pick me up. _Now_." She ordered, leaving no room for argument. Anya could hear Gilbert's breathing over the phone, her key to knowing he was still listening. "Use the tracker in Nikolai's phone. I have no clue where I am in these woods."

"Woods? Boss, what happened?"

"Just bring me fresh clothes. And a first aid kit. Maybe some vodka, as well. I need a drink." She sighed into the phone, using the sleeves of the coat to wipe the cold sweat off her face, and pushing her hair behind her ears. Anya hissed when she brushed by a cut on her cheek, and shivered.

"…Alright, boss. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Both hung up simultaneously, Anya placing her hands on the back of her neck, which was one of the warmer spots on her body. It felt terribly off and strange not to have her scarf around her. Alfred probably had it, that bastard. He always had to stick his nose in other people's business, didn't he? She let out another sigh, leaning weakly against a tree and looking up at the sky, which was clouded over through the leaves. Gilbert had better hurry up.

XxoOoxX

Alfred hissed in frustration, having gotten just as much out of Anya's brothers as he did from Anya, herself. Were they all made of wills of steel? Even Igor, who seemed to be the weakest, wasn't talking. Hell, Alfred could barely keep him awake long enough to talk, he kept passing out. Whether as a defense mechanism or out of fear, only his brother Nikolai seemed to know. And he was as tight-lipped as they came. The Belarusian man was scary good at keeping himself in check, the electricity and many other forms of torture having little-to-no effect on him. All he did was glare and spit curses in his native tongue at any of the men who came within twenty feet of him. The American man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a common habit for him. This was getting him absolutely nowhere! In his hand he was feeling Anya's scarf; the one she always wore. It was soft, but worn out, as if used on a constant basis. He paced back and forth behind the one-way mirror, watching as any and all methods of persuasion failed against the siblings of the Russian woman he was out to get. Alfred jumped as his phone rang, but instantly picked it up.

"Alfred F. Jones, United States of America. Talk to me."

As he chattered away with one of his associates on the phone, he kept an eye on Nikolai, whose piercing, angry gaze hadn't left Alfred for a moment. The Blonde Belarusian was trying to listen over his choked shouts, but couldn't hear a thing. The walls must be soundproof. What a waste! How was he supposed to pick up useful information for his dear sister this way? He was dangled from the ceiling this time, as his sister had been, top off and bloodied up across the chest. These scars would heal, like all the rest. And once he got his hands on that American… there'd be hell to pay. Alfred continued pacing, not noticing the vast amount of loathing in the silver-haired man's eyes as he talked.

"Yes, I have some of her things. Would they be useful in a tracking? Our dogs can only do so much, and have always been thrown off Anya's trail. She's eluded us for a long time, man. I almost had her! No seriously, I swear! She seemed to be about to tell me everything, before her god damned brothers showed up." He sighed, rubbing his temples, completely stressed. "Yeah I know. I shouldn't have let her get away. I'll nab her, Arthur. You bet your British ass, I will. All in good time. Hey, I'll talk to you later. Gotta go on guard duty."

Alfred looked away from Nikolai and to Igor's containment room instead. Unlike his brother, he was in the corner, slumped against a wall. No scars or marks, as if he hadn't been touched. He seemed to be still passed out, completely out of it and unaware of his surroundings. The Ukrainian man looked young when talking, vibrant and eager, but innocent. Alfred had always thought Anya had dragged him into this life, Igor unknowing and ready to help his younger sister. The American sighed, sitting down and turning away from both of them, the scarf still in hand. He'd catch Anya… he'd catch her if it was the last thing he ever did.

Standing up, he moved away, folding the scarf up and putting it in his pocket. Alfred moved outside, switching shifts with one of the guard at the fence, nodding and talking with him for a moment before taking his postion.

XxoOoxX

"Boss?"

At the sound of the familiar German accent, Anya was roused from her sleep. She sat up, every part of her stiff with pain and cold now. In front of her was Gilbert, all bundled up and holding some neatly folded clothing in his hands.

"Boss, th-the car isn't too far… we should probably go."

She could tell that the stutter in his voice was from fear, not cold. After all the time he'd spent with her, he was still afraid of her. Anya sighed, pushing some hair out of her face and shivering for a moment. The German extended his free hand to her, and she took it graciously, coming to a standing position.

"Thank you for coming, Gil. Though I was hoping you would arrive a bit faster.

"S-sorry, boss. Had some trouble with the feds, y'know? This place is very guarded… had to use one of those fake badges you gave me—"

"Stop talking." She groaned, sick of his voice already. Anya took the clothes from him, mumbling, "Take me to the car. I'll need help; my legs are all scratched up and worn out."

Gilbert nodded quickly, reluctantly putting her arm around his neck and shoulder for support, walking her slowly over to the vehicle. He helped her into the backseat, before settling himself into the driver's seat, starting the engine. Anya began to change, slipping off the warm coat and putting on whatever it was that Gil had brought her. She eyed the clothes suspiciously, a bit confused.

"What made you choose this outfit, Gil?"

"W-well, I figured we'd have to go back past all those agents, y'know, and so I thought a disguise would help me sneak you past… lots of security and all…"

He didn't look at her as he explained, Anya just blinking a bit and continuing to dress. "Perhaps you may be right. Now drive."

She put her hair up and a pair of half-moon glasses on to go with the outfit. She looked like a business woman; an agent. An agent with an escort. A good cover to use to pass the security of the place. Once Gilbert pulled up to the gate, however, and Anya saw Alfred, she stiffened. He'd see right through her.

"Boss? You alright?"

Before she could answer, Alfred came up to the window, a seriously unamused look on his face. He didn't seem to notice Anya yet as he talked to the albino in the driver's seat.

"ID, please."

They were _so_ dead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

_Please forgive my updating schedule. Thank you, Sluttystalin, Cry-To-The-Moon, and RussiaXAmerica for the reviews. They are greatly appreciated._

"Was I not clear? Identification and business, please; and hurry it up!"

Alfred was clearly more than annoyed with the albino German in front of him who was frantically fumbling for his identification and badges. After a few moments, and a sharp kick to the back of the leg from Anya, Gilbert pulled out a badge and passport. He handed them over to the agitated officer, who looked them up and down, before handing them off to another guard to scan them. Alfred leaned over, glancing at Anya in the back, who froze in place.

"Who's the lovely lady?"

The American smiled at the dumbstruck Russian. What? How could he not notice? With such a poor disguise… Gilbert glanced nervously between the two of them, back and forth. Alfred was clearly waiting for an answer, however.

"I'm Amber Delfino. I'm being transported to the next state over for personal business."

"Personal business?"

"My mother has died."

There was an awkward silence, and 'Amber' waited, tapping her fingers. The guard returned the passport, mumbling something to his fellow agent. Alfred's eyes narrowed after hearing the news, and his smile was gone. Anya raised her eyebrows, imitating Alfred by pushing the glasses she was wearing up the bridge of her nose. This was nerve-wracking. It shouldn't take this long! Alfred's eyes drifted from Anya to Gilbert, who gulped and flashed a nervous grin, clearly trying to look confident.

"Something wrong, man?"

The albino man laughed it off, but Al only glared. This made Gilbert go dead silent, and caused a few beads of sweat to form on Anya's forehead. The tension within the air was unbearable, the three looking from one to the other, before Alfred finally spoke.

"Your ID's a fake, if you're wondering why I'm frowning." He snorted, slightly sarcastic. Immediately, Anya pulled out a gun from under the seat, dropping the act. Alfred blinked, but she spoke before he could, leaning forward and pressing the gun to his lips. More silence followed as a smirk pulled at the Russian woman's lips.

"Now, darling, you're going to get in the car without a word. If you speak, I'll blow your brains out." Anya giggled, accent no longer hidden. Alfred's eyes widened, and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He'd almost let her escape!

"Threatening me will get you nowhere, _darling_."

"You know what, Jones? You're correct!"

Anya took the safety off the gun, moving it a little to the right, aiming at the guards instead. Alfred glanced between her and his comrades, infuriated.

"How about your friends?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but Anya already shot, hitting the first guard directly in the head. There were a few shouts in the distance, and an alarm went off. Alfred looked horrified, smacking her wrist and snaking the gun right out of her hands. Anya ducked down, quickly slipping out of the car and hitting the blonde man in the face, breaking his nose. Blood came gushing out, and he dropped the gun in shock. Since when did she have all her strength back? Anya saw movement out of the corner of her eye, noticing a strike team ready to shoot. She picked up her gun, smashing it over Alfred's head, causing him to collapse in a heap. A bullet grazed her thigh, and she yelped, dragging the American around back and tossing him into the trunk of the car. She slipped back into the backseat, panting.

"_DRIVE!_"

She ordered, jumping as the windshield was hit by multiple bullets. Bulletproof glass was wondrous right now, was all Anya had to say. Gilbert stepped on the gas, the car filling with life as it sped away. They just barely made it past the gate and away as they were followed.

XxoOoxX

Alfred soon awoke from his blackout in the back of the moving vehicle, head in pain from the earlier hit it had taken. He groaned as the car made multiple sharp turns, and he was tossed about the small, confined space. He could hear Anya giggling on the other side of the seat. How could he have let this happen? Dammit!

"Anya Braginskaya, you let me out this very instant!" He roared, yelping in pain as they hit a bump, causing him to bite his tongue. He pounded on the inside of the trunk until his arm was sore, sighing in frustration.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, darling. You're coming with me."

Wait. This meant there was a chance of seeing her hideout! To find out where she was hiding… it was much more than he'd ever hoped. This was excellent! But what would he do when he got there? Surely they had a plan. Anya always did.

The rest of the car ride was silent, aside from a call or two that Anya made every now and then. Alfred had no idea who she was talking to, and tried listening in, but didn't have the slightest clue about the Russian language. When the car finally came to a halt, Alfred knew they would have to let him out now. He knew his comrades were probably following the tracker in his cell phone… When Gilbert opened the trunk, Alfred immediately sprung to life, kicking him square in the chest. The German shouted angrily, stumbling backwards as Alfred leaped out of the car. Before he could make another move, however, he felt a sharp pain crash over his head again, disturbing the pain from the earlier blow. Anya had slammed her infamous shovel down over his head, and she watched with great amusement and satisfaction as he collapsed in a heap on the ground. The last thing he heard was Anya's voice, clearly giving Gilbert a command, since the albino was soon dragging Alfred inside a large building.

XxoOoxX

Anya's abode was large and fancy. Matryoshka were scattered all over the place, the dolls somewhat creepy with their forever staring eyes. There were a fair few leather couches, chairs, and loveseats placed around each room, as well as glass tables and teak cabinets. Many expensive trinkets from around the world were aligned along the shelves on the walls, and the owner of the house, herself, was in the middle of the room, making a phone call.

"Now, Yao, I understand we had a deal, but I have my own business to take care of in the form of an American agent. Please wait until I—_Yao._" Her tone was suddenly as cold as the Northern winds, expression unpleasant. "You will wait until I finish my own business, or I will personally see to it that your head is smashed in. Are we clear?"

Without another word, she hung up, groaning. Gilbert was right behind her, coming out from the next room over with a set of neatly folded clothes. Anya smiled, taking the clothes and caressing the man's cheek. He immediately flinched at the touch, causing the Russian woman to giggle. He was usually such a confident man… arrogant, even. He became so cowardly around her, however, that it was almost boring and disappointing.

"Thank you, Gilbert. You are a wonderful partner." She slipped off her brother's coat right then and there, revealing her tattered undergarments and scarred up body. Before slipping on the new, clean clothing, Anya moved to the large kitchen, opening a cabinet and pulling out a few medicines and cleansing materials, beginning to disinfect and cauterize the wounds. "Did you grab his phone?"

"Ja, as you asked." He handed her the phone, wincing as she tossed it to the floor and stomped on it, shattering the device.

"Throw any remaining pieces in the fire, to be safe." She muttered, eyes narrowed. The cuts on her body were stinging, making her writhe in slight, sharp pain. "You put our friend in the containment room, da~?"

Gilbert nodded, somewhat relieved to hear the old, playful tone his boss usually had. Anya smiled, taking a couple pills and dressing herself then, throwing her hair up into a long, neat ponytail. The marks on her face were scarring over, and she sighed.

"Eat. And make sure we're ready to leave if necessary. I'm going to head downstairs to see our Amerikan friend."

The German gulped, knowing that whatever was awaiting Alfred was _not_ good. If Alfred had tortured his boss… Anya wasn't going to let that go. He simply nodded, however, looking reluctantly for some food as the Russian headed a few rooms over, to a heavyset door. It had a security system to keep it locked, and Anya entered the code, slipping inside. A cart rested in the corner of the room, many weapons on them. Knives, guns, tasers, and many other dangerous possessions were ready to be put in use. Her shovel—her weapon of choice—lay against the wall. She smiled at the sight before her; Alfred was bound to the wall opposite her by thick metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His mouth was duct taped shut, and he looked to be still passed out.

That simply wouldn't do.

"Fredka… Darling, wake up~" Anya walked slowly over to him, slipping off his glasses with a smile. The man stirred, but didn't wake. Sighing, the blonde woman instantly punched him in the gut, causing Alfred to sputter and cough, immediately roused from his blackout. He lifted his head to glare at Anya, immediately noticing his situation. Anya smiled at him, slipping his glasses into her pocket. She eyed his pockets warily, slipping out any concealed weapons—as well as her scarf—and tossing them aside. Wrapping her scarf snugly back around her neck, she giggled, eyes alight with mischief and bloodlust. Alfred gulped, struggling slightly in his containment, but giving up quickly, knowing it was pointless. Anya picked up her shovel, tilting Alfred's face up to look into his eyes, a smile on her face.

"Welcome back, darling. _Time to play_~"


End file.
